


Old Coffee, New Friends

by QuickYoke



Series: Coffee and Tea [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, a poor excuse for smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 09:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3203471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickYoke/pseuds/QuickYoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy isn't alone when she enters the Automat. A sequel to "Lessons in Recklessness"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Coffee, New Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one shot, and now it's a three part series, with possibly more to come. Just great.

When Peggy walked through the door of the L+L Automat, Angie's face lit up like Fifth Avenue on New Years Eve. Normally Peggy returned the look with a small secret smile, but this time her face remained stuck in a rigid glower. For a moment Angie floundered, but the reason why became apparent when Peggy moved towards her usual booth and was followed by three men. They all took their seats together, with Peggy perched at the edge of the booth as though she were going to bolt at any second, back ramrod straight, hands clenched into fists and going white-knuckled around the leather strap of her purse. Even grumpy and speckled with a drizzle of rain she stood out like a pinprick of colour crowded by gray suits.

“Oh, boy,” Angie muttered under her breath. She steeled herself and approached the table with her best smile, “What can I get you, gentlemen?”

One of them, a rakish handsome blonde fellow gave her a slow grin, eyes traveling up and down her body, “I can see why you come here so often now, Carter,” he nudged Peggy with his elbow, and she gave him a glare that wiped the smile from his face faster than butter from a hot griddle. “Uh-” he cleared his throat, then continued, suddenly officious, “A burger with fries for me. No cheese.”

“Pastrami sandwich for me, please,” another added – the one with the brace and the funny walk. He threw in an apologetic smile for good measure, and Angie instantly rated him above the other one.

“Just coffee for me,” the last and oldest of the lot said, “If I spoil my dinner the wife will kill me.”

Jotting their orders down on her little notebook, Angie swung her attention to Peggy, “The usual for you, English?”

Peggy nodded, curt, refusing the meet Angie's eye. Feeling put out, Angie flounced off back to the kitchen. She called out the orders to the sweaty cook, and pinned the page from her book above his station for good measure. For her efforts she received a non-committal grunt and a view of his backside as he bent over to retrieve another pan. The latter was definitely something she could have lived without seeing. When she returned to the table with two mugs and a pot of old tepid coffee she had brewed earlier that afternoon, Peggy was engaged in reluctant conversation with what Angie assumed were her co-workers.

“Tell me, Dooley,” Peggy said with an edge of biting sarcasm Angie rarely heard, “What's the point of having a wife if she's just going to try harassing you or killing you at every turn?”

“Apart from bringing a little much needed spice to my life? Wives are useful. Ain't they, Thompson?” He implored to the cocky blond to his right.

Thompson held up his hands, “Please don't tell us the details of how your wife spices up your life,” he snarked back.

Dooley crumpled up a napkin and threw it at him, “You know what I mean, you son of a bitch. They remember everyone's birthdays for you, and stuff.”

Snapping his fingers, Thompson said, “That's true. Can't even remember my sister's birthday. But the lady?” He shrugged, "Every time. Like witchcraft."

As Angie placed the mugs on the table and started pouring coffee, Peggy replied dryly, “Sounds wonderful. I should look into getting one for myself, and reporting back on her efficacy.”

All the men laughed – Dooley and Thompson loudly, Sousa hiding chuckles behind his hand. Startled – by a combination of the raucous laughter, the comment itself, and the discrete heated stare Peggy levelled at her from beneath her lashes – Angie's wrist tipped, liquid rushed all over the table, and a river of black coffee dripped into Peggy's lap.

Like a shot Peggy was on her feet, but the damage had been done. A large swath of brown spattered her blue skirt, a few stray splashes blotched her cream-coloured blouse. If anything it spurred the others into greater peals of laughter.

“I'm so sorry!” Angie put the coffee pot down and started gathering fistfuls of napkins to daub at Peggy's midriff.

Terse, Peggy brushed her away and snapped, “It's fine. Bathroom?”

“Yeah,” Angie grimaced and followed Peggy into the back, yelling to the cook that she was helping a customer as they passed. When they were finally out of earshot, she started babbling, “Oh, geeze, Peg-! I didn't mean to-! I'm so sorry-!”

Rather than turn into the bathroom however, Peggy grabbed Angie's arm and dragged her further down the corridor.

“What are you-?” Angie began as she was hauled into the far janitorial closet. But then the door was shut with a click, and Peggy had her pushed up against a wall.

They knocked over a bucket and mop, but Peggy didn't seem to care. Through the dim her eyes were dark as sin, and the alarmed noise Angie made was swallowed by a kiss, fierce and burning. By the time they parted to gasp for breath, Peggy was halfway through unbuttoning Angie's uniform, “I've had the most ghastly day,” she panted against Angie's neck, head angled to punctuate her words with little nips and scrapes of her tongue over sensitive skin, “Your spilling coffee on me has been the highlight. Trust me.”

“Happy to – _oh_ – help,” Angie bit back a low groan, fingers trembling at the zipper of Peggy's skirt.

Before she could get very far though, one of Peggy's hands had crept up her skirt, stroking her thigh, and the other was palming her breast, bra dragged down, constricted over her ribcage – but she certainly wasn't complaining. She pulled Peggy's mouth up for a hard kiss, relishing the sh udder through Peggy's frame as she rolled their hips together.

“What if we're caught?” she asked breathlessly.

“We won't be,” Peggy's fingers circled and teased, “The cook only comes back here at seven fifteen to clean the kitchen floors.”

“How do you-?” but Angie's sentence ended in a strangled moan as Peggy thrust up and -

The tinny aluminium shelves beside them rocked and tapped against the wall. A box of detergent clattered to the floor, unheeded. Quick – so quick – Angie came with a stifled cry while Peggy snarled something wordless against her delicate collarbone.

Still clinging to Peggy's shoulders, Angie stared up at the ceiling, panting. She'd be sporting bruises for a week, but she couldn't bring herself to care.  Intermittent shivers rolled through Peggy's arms and legs, and she removed her fingers only to grasp at Angie's waist, jittery. Her gaze remained fixed and intense. Finally recovering, Angie glanced down at her and burst into giggles. When Peggy's brows knitted in confusion, she swiped her thumb against that full lower lip and said, “You look all focused and fiery, but your lipstick is friggin' everywhere.”

In response Peggy just drew Angie's thumb into her mouth and gave her an unbroken heavy-lidded stare.

Angie swallowed, “Hey, English. Wanna blow this popsicle stand?”

With a wicked grin Peggy licked at Angie's wrist, “I thought you'd never ask.”

 


End file.
